Another winter came and still the home was not finished, but now the
work on the buildings could still go on, as it was mainly within doors
and under shelter. In the heated rooms the skilled workmen found their
tasks easy, and under their hands the rooms were rapidly turned into
bowers of beauty and use. The gardeners were kept busy during all the
winter months and in the early springtime commenced their outdoor work
of beautifying the place. Fountains, statues and other objects of beauty
and use grew as if by magic. The hot-houses and conservatories were
wonders of beauty and elegance. Then came the work of furnishing the
building. Again money was not spared to make everything perfect. Every
nook and arch contained some rare piece of art—of sculptured work.
Exquisite paintings graced the walls. Breakfast and noonday meals were
to be taken in what was called the breakfast room. This room was
arranged simply for comfort—warm and cozy for the winter, cool and
shaded for the summer. The furniture was covered with leather. The
breakfast was to be simple, consisting principally of milk, grain foods
and fruits. The mid-day meal to which it was expected few would gather
was again simple—fruits and nuts playing a leading part.
But in the evening when all should be gathered together to enjoy as well
as eat—but we are anticipating—too eager to lift the veil from the
future. Let us wait, rather, until all our dear friends shall be
gathered, to partake of their first evening meal here in the new home;
for the present let us go on with our description of this glorious
structure.
And yet, how shall we describe it? The most vivid fancy fails to do it
justice. The corridors, whose floors are inlaid with tile; the marble
staircases; the painted walls; the carved ceilings; the cozy private
rooms—each in itself a gem; books and music to be found in them all;
each a sanctum for the owner thereof. The library, the music room and
the drawing room, each perfect as to form and dimensions; each flooded
with brilliant light, or softly toned down as the fancy would demand or
occasion call for, yet all arranged so as not to cause needless work.
It was the desire and expectation of this happy household to have such
only move about the rooms as were fairly intelligent and cultured. “We
don’t want them to be servants, who do the work in this home.” Owen had
remarked, “but comrades and mates, each doing a share. No drones. Drones
and idlers do not deserve to enjoy.”
Among the details worthy of particular mention were the bath rooms. Not
little tubs wherein one person could scarce recline, but a bath in which
the bather could splash and swim and romp, not a bath in which false
modesty would allow a single occupant only, but one in which a bevy of
bathers could enjoy the luxury at the same time. Hot and cold water;
steam baths and shower baths—O what a blessing in the cleansing,
purifying element! bringing health and strength to all who are wise
enough to rightly use it. Just watch the healthy babe in the bath, as it
kicks and splashes and screams with delight. Was there ever a more
beautiful sight?
Then we come to a wing of this grand building which as yet was, and for
a little while would be, closed. Not that this wing was not furnished or
completed in every little detail, but the use to which it had been
dedicated was not yet here. One or more hearts were waiting and hoping
for love’s crown—in more than one breast the expectation was strong that
at their knock the mystic door would open. What was this mysterious
wing? The sanctum of the prospective mother!
Here she was to be surrounded by every beauty and comfort that art could
supply and that money could buy. Wherever her eyes should turn they
would rest upon representations of nature’s most perfect work—the nude
human form! From the little dimpled cupid to the graceful undulating
curves of the perfect woman and the outlines of the strength and beauty
of the perfect man. Here was the workshop of art. The expectant mother
would here be taught to mold the clay, to use the pallet and brush or in
the quiet and rest secured her here she could learn to wield the pen.
Her gems of thought would thus influence and mold the mentality of her
unborn child, and would leap like flashes of sunshine to the world
without. Here the builder of the coming child could withdraw to perfect
rest and quiet, and here she could steep her soul in music and poetry,
and the child which was asked for, which was longed for and demanded, as
a pledge of love—the child which was begotten under holiest influences
and gestated under such perfect surroundings—could such a child be
anything else than ideal? anything less than divine? Released from all
the old superstitions of right and wrong; seeing absolutely no wrong in
holy love, with a conscience that waits not for sanction of church or
state for the consummation of love, but follows only nature’s
dictates,—who would dare to set the seal of impurity upon the product of
such desires, such holy aspirations, such hopes and such longings!
Gently, reverently, we close the door of this holy of holies until it
opens again to the knock of the favored one.
Is there still more to tell? O yes much more, but space and language
fail. We cannot tell you half there is to tell. There is the concert
hall, the lecture hall, the dancing hall, the theater—all awaiting their
turn to be unlocked, for hope is strong within the breasts of the little
band that their number will not always be so small, but that in a few
short years every room in the spacious building will have its occupant,
every hall its throngs of visitors.
In still other rooms beyond, where baby-life is to thrive, the cooing,
kicking, little mortals will not be wanting. Where the nurse, to whose
care the little treasures are to be entrusted, fully understands the
responsibility of her work. No gorging her little charges with sweets,
souring their little stomachs; no dosing with soothing syrups and
paregorics, sleeping potions, horrid teas and what not, dulling and
stupefying their brains and destroying the natural brightness of the
child’s mentality. O no! This nurse understands better what is for the
good of the dimpled, rollicking morsels of humanity entrusted to her
care, and as a result she can sleep soundly the long night through. The
babes do not disturb her. The perfectly healthy treatment they receive
lulls them to sleep and they lie coiled up like downy balls, the chubby
fists resting on the dimpled cheeks. What heart would not such a picture
gladden?
Are we anticipating again? The picture is so alluring that we cannot
help letting our imagination wander, sometimes, but we must return and
bring our friends to the now finished home.
It was the close of a sultry summer day, late in August, when Owen,
stepping abruptly into the midst of our friends at the Westcot mansion,
said:
“Our home is finished! When will you be ready to start for the new
quarters?”
This question, though long expected, was not readily answered. All were
eager to start, yet much was still to be attended to. The Westcot home
had been sold, as it stood, with all its handsome furnishings. The
younger Wallace children had lived, during the past year, almost wholly
at the Westcots, though Mrs. Wallace had at first demurred not a little.
But as the change in them grew daily more apparent she had fully
consented, and had left them almost entirely to the management of her
stepdaughters. In the spacious grounds of the Westcot place they were
taught to play and romp and enjoy themselves in a style they had never
known. The plan of sending them to boarding school had been given up. A
boarding school education was fashionable—yes, but horribly
demoralizing. It was to be purchased at the expense of sparkling eyes
and glowing cheeks. “Better not,” Edith had said. “Mrs. Westcot’s little
girls are taught at home; why not give these girls home lessons also?”
Accordingly Edith taught them their grammar, their arithmetic and
geography. Hilda heard their reading and spelling and superintended
their writing. Imelda taught them music and drawing while Cora
cultivated their voices.
They were now no longer overburdened with long hours of study, when body
and brain were weary. There was now plenty of time for healthy romping
games, long strolls in the shady woods where they became interested in
the mysteries of botany, and when evening came, though the day had been
so pleasant the curly heads scarce touched the pillows ere sleep had
closed the tired lids, not to open again until the morning sun peeped in
at the eastern windows.
The boys received similar treatment. As Paul’s clear and experienced eye
almost instantly detected the cause of the evil that was threatening to
make a wreck of their young lives, the same methods had from the first
been made use of to fill their unemployed hours.
Such had been the lives of our friends, and now came the task of moving,
or of emigration. The old familiar scenes, the walks and drives, the
groves and the cooling fountains, would know them no more. Mr. and Mrs.
Wallace had long since known of this project and it was with sincere
regret they saw the day approach when they should say good bye to these
elder, and at one time considered burdensome children. But far worse
than they had expected—their younger children refused to remain behind,
but insisted on going along to the new home.
At first Mrs. Wallace would hear none of it, but as they begged so hard,
and were seconded by all the members of the “colony,” she finally gave
her consent.
Of course it is not to be supposed that Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, especially
the latter, fully understood the nature of the home to which her
children were to be taken. She was too thorough a woman of the world to
countenance a scheme so unconventional, so outlandish. She only knew
that it was a co-operative home her children were going to; that they
had become bright, healthy and strong since she had given them into the
care of her stepdaughters, and as she knew she would now have to send
them away again to complete their education she wisely concluded it was
better to send them where she felt assured they would be properly cared
for, and more so as it was just as easy for them to come home on a
vacation from the co-operative home as from any other school. And—yes,
she could go to see them. The invitation had been tendered her, so that
matter was satisfactorily settled.
Osmond, too, had a severe battle to fight. His life for the past two
years had been a series of battles. His father had soon discovered the
presence of Osmond’s mother, and knew of his visits to her. With a
volley of oaths he had issued the command that Osmond should never go
near her again. To his surprise the boy not only demurred to this but
firmly declared that he would go to see his mother as often as he
desired. Almost dumb-founded the father shouted:
“What! Court the society of that outcast! that shameless creature who
knows not the meaning of the word decency? the woman who——”
“No more of that!”—came in firm, almost defiant tones from the lips of
the boy. “You have slandered the best and purest of women long
enough—the woman I am proud to own as my mother! An accident made me
acquainted with her and with her friends, and never until then did I
know what purity meant, what true manhood and womanhood meant. My mother
and my sister are women with whom any man might well be proud to claim
kinship. I will not give up their companionship. I would rather cut
loose from you!”
Mr. Leland stormed, fumed and cursed, but to no avail. The boy was firm.
“I will disinherit you!” he exclaimed. “I will cut you off without a
cent!”
“Do so!” was the calmly uttered reply. “Then I will find some work to do
and will transfer my life altogether to the side of my mother.”
At this point Mr. Leland wisely desisted. Somehow he hoped to circumvent
the boy; hoped to regain full control, forgetting that Osmond’s mind was
daily developing, and that he was now able to think for himself. So when
the son’s intention of going away with his mother and sister became
known another storm broke loose. But Osmond was firm, and on the morning
that witnessed the departure of the colonists he appeared with the rest,
equipped and ready for the journey. Meta’s dark head appeared beside
him. She was growing to be quite a big girl and all along the journey
she was his especial care. His “little sweetheart”—she had been termed
long since, and the grave-faced child was proud of the title.